


Fool Proof

by the_moonmoth



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt "The trouble with sparring is that it gets both of them hot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feliciacraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feliciacraft/gifts).



> This is from the sb_fag_ends LJ community's [fifth anniversary comment party](http://sb-fag-ends.livejournal.com/423364.html), running until the end of the week. Head on over to leave prompts, fill prompts, give feedback, have fun, etc. ;)

**Fool Proof**

 

The problem with Spike, Giles considers – and this really is being quite generous as one could make a list of Spike's problems as long as one's arm – is that he seems to have a talent for and enjoyment of bringing out the absolute worst in Buffy. It has been pointed out many a time, and quite fairly, that he loves the girl like a daughter, but dear _God_ if he has to put up with much more of this infantile niggling he will be at serious risk of asking Willow to re-do her curse on his ears this time.

 

Well. And there is an irony, because the aftermath of Miss Rosenberg's little spell was sufficient to gain him nearly twenty-four hours of bicker-free existence. It's upon further consideration of this fact that Giles feels the inkling of a plan begin to form.

 

Clearly he cannot separate his slayer from a potentially dangerous supernatural hostage. If they are somehow wrong about the chip, or it ceases to function, heaven knows what damage Spike could cause in the interim. So Buffy must indeed be nearby, but preferably in a setting that allows some outlet for the irritation. On the whole, Giles prefers to allow his young companions to take him as oblivious, but he is an adult in some very substantial ways in which they are not. He is, for example, perfectly aware that the reasons for the post-spell peace run something along the lines of 40% embarrassment over music preferences and 60% temporary alleviation of animosity through the, ahem, release of certain pent up sensations.

 

It is a well-documented if little-discussed fact that slayers run hot in more areas than temper.

 

And that is quite enough thinking about that.

 

No, Giles's plan is far tamer. Buffy needs an outlet for the enmity, and Spike is stronger and far less delicate than any of the rest of them. He won't even need the padding (not that Giles has any intention of giving it to him anyway, the irritating little prat), there is always the possibility of learning something new about the bounds of the chip or vampire resilience, and if nothing else, Giles will gain the not inconsiderable pleasure of seeing Spike taking a beating. All it takes is a couple of hours one afternoon, moving boxes in his basement to make space: all things considered, a very easy fix.

 

Surveying his work in satisfaction, Giles heads upstairs to make a cup of tea and await Buffy's arrival. This, he feels certain, is as perfect a solution as can be had without getting a stake involved. His logic is impeccable, after all. What could possibly go wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could possibly go wrong, Giles wondered in chapter 1. May I provide the shocking answer to this question...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't intend to write any more of this, but apparently I just cannot ignore the call to porn! This really is it now, though. I wrote this whole thing in the space of a day and I think it broke my brain D: Still, I had a riot - hope you enjoy too ;)

The problem with Spike, Buffy thought – or, like, one problem out of about a million – was that he just didn't know when to shut up. Giles had suggested they spar, and she'd gone along with it despite her reservations (because seriously? Who needed to spend _more_ time with Spike?) But it hadn't taken long to see the genius of his plan. Pummelling that bleach-headed idiot, however restrained she was being out of some clearly misplaced sensitivity for his... condition, was doing wonders for her mood. And then he had to – just _had to_ – go and open his mouth.

 

"Really, Summers? This the best you got?" Spike shook his head sadly, his annoyingly un-marked-despite-the-really-nice-high-kick-she'd-just-landed-on-his-chin head. "I am deeply shamed."

 

"Yeah, well, it's not like you're making it much of a fight, fangless."

 

He gave her a dark look that slithered all the way down her spine and into her panties. _Just a residual something from the spell_, she promised herself. Definitely nothing to do with the way his eyes were glittering at her like that.

 

"Oh I'll give you a fight all right," he growled, and rushed her.

 

For a moment, just a moment, Buffy's heart shot up into her throat in panic and she scrambled backwards, because she really hadn't expected that the chip— but it was a fake out. Spike boxed her in against the wall she'd stumbled back to without touching her, lowering his face until he was uncomfortably close.

 

"You're playing with fire, little girl," he murmured, voice low and – oh god – suggestive. He leaned in so close his nose brushed her jaw, inhaling deeply. She broke out in goose bumps. Right in her ear, he said, "Gonna get burned."

 

Giles! Where was Giles? Hadn't he said he was going to stay and supervise? But no, she remembered now, he'd said something about needing a fresh cloth for his glasses and disappeared upstairs. Boy, his glasses had been dirty this afternoon with all the polishing he’d given them. So there was no rescue coming, and apparently no escape, because for some reason Buffy couldn't remember how to move.

 

"Just try me, Spike," she said weakly. "I'll snuff you out no problem."

 

He drew back to look at her, scarred eyebrow raised almost gleefully. "Well, well," he said, tonguing his teeth. Then he pushed his thigh between her legs with embarrassing ease and rolled his disgusting crotch against her hip. She absolutely did not gasp. Or take note of the firmness behind his zipper. "After last week, you do owe me."

 

Ugh, as if she needed any reminder of the way his hand had felt shoved down the front of her panties, fingers cool against her aching hot flesh, working her up and over the edge right there in Giles's sitting room while she muffled her cries in the crook of his neck. She'd wanted to pay him back there and then, get down on her knees in front of their armchair and suck him off until he screamed her name. Thankfully Giles had come back in before she could slide off and get started, or she'd have ended up with even more fuel for her dr— nightmares! Definitely nightmares. But Buffy did remember vividly tonguing the shell of his ear as he licked his fingers clean, and breathing hotly, "I owe you."

 

He was rocking against her now, ever so slightly – just enough friction to make all the heat in her body coalesce between her legs. And she was tempted. Sorely.

 

"Ow! Bloody _hell_ , Slayer!"

 

Obvious Solution to Dealing With Spike #1: punch him in the nose.

 

He glowered up at her from where he half-lay sprawled on the floor, and yes, this was much better!

 

"The only thing I owe you is a stake to the heart," she spat, chest heaving. He rolled to his feet but didn't approach again, circling her.

 

"Now, Slayer," he crooned, "would you really stake a vamp with no weapons to his name?"

 

"What's the matter?" she grinned viciously, feeling the adrenaline surge. "Feeling all unmanly without one?" Then she went for him, no holds barred this time. He ducked and swerved around her attacks, grinning back with the same, sharp edge. It was enough to make her wish he _could_ fight back, because she missed the feeling of flesh connecting, the close-quarters brawling of punch and counter-punch. Still, he was creative, and apparently had no problem being able to throw things at her head, and so they danced around the basement hurling taunts and blunt objects until the exhilaration of it made her giddy.

 

There was only ever going to be one outcome, though, because for all his speed and creativity he could barely even block her without falling down screaming, and besides he was still on the gaunt side from starvation and surely underpowered. Buffy didn't know if the heels on the kicky little boots she'd worn that day were made of wood or not, but there was still something oh so satisfying about the look on Spike's face as he lay, once again at her feet, with one of said heels brought to bear on his chest. He looked scared and impressed, furious and... horny?

 

A very distant part of her mind observed, _Huh, so it’s not just Faith._ Another part squirmed at the realization that she knew what Spike's horny-face looked like. The substantial remainder was frozen in amber, stuck in the moment of watching Spike’s gaze travel hotly down her body to where she had him pinned, then back up again, lingering at her crotch.

 

"I remember a time when you used to fight in miniskirts, Slayer," he croaked, sounding wistful, and a jolt of lust went through her as she imagined the view he would've been getting right now. Cool fingers snaked around her ankle, stroking some previously unimagined sensitive spot that made her quiver as he eyes burned holes in her inseam. Damn it! This was no good, none of this. Even when he was on the floor, he was still somehow getting the upper hand.

 

"Yeah? Well _I_ remember a time when you weren't a pathetic, toothless excuse for a vamp reduced to sucking pig's blood from a straw." She bent at the waist to glare at him harder. "Time was you would've been lusting after something a bit less deranged than what's in my—"

 

The world span for a moment and Spike roared, in frustration or pain she wasn't sure – pain, hopefully, because he'd knocked her ankles apart with such force that she'd crashed down on top of him. And wow, was she on _top_ of him. The pain in her knees and the pressure between her legs combined for one second of blinding sensation, and she arched against him, groaning.

 

When she realized what she was doing, she immediately made to spring off him but by then he'd sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders, not hard enough to hurt (of course) but firmly. They stared at each other, and Buffy became acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touched, the pounding of her blood, every throb and twitch and flutter. She licked her lips and Spike's eyes fell to her mouth, then lower, practically panting in time to the pulsing of her jugular.

 

"Must be unbearable," she murmured, tipping her head to one side and brushing back her hair. "Being so hungry, knowing you're this close to fresh, warm blood, right from the source." She smiled nastily. "I bet slayer blood's as good as it comes, too. Fresh, young... nubile..." She ground down into him, and the sound he made was closer to animal than human. Between her legs she could feel him, hard as rock and practically throbbing. She had a moment of pure, perfect smugness at just how _wrecked_ he looked, before he grabbed her by the back of the neck and forced her mouth to his.

 

Oh god, he kissed like – like a demon. Like he was attacking her. And of course, she had to fight back. She wasn't sure if the sounds coming out of her throat were protest or encouragement, or maybe even just exertion because boy was this ever a workout, but by the time she surfaced again Spike was flat on his back and she was plastered to him, hair forming a curtain around their faces.

 

"This is disgusting and wrong and... we hate each other..." Already whispering, her voice petered out. His eyes were huge and blue and, oh, really pretty.

 

"Yeah," he agreed breathlessly. "That's what makes it hot."

 

His hands fell to her hips, holding her in place as he thrust up into her, and her eyes fell closed and her mouth fell open and _dear god_ this was getting out of hand.

 

But she wasn't gonna stop. The realization hit her at the same moment Spike's hand fell to her fly. She screwed her eyes shut in search of her convictions, and finding them utterly absent, gave in to him like a waterfall.

 

"There she is," Spike murmured when he slid his hand in – again – to her panties. "Hot, smooth little quim. Did you shave for me, Slayer?"

 

"No! God."

 

He gave her a knowing smirk, followed by a knowing pinch that made her keen. "Course you did. Bet you've been thinking about old Spike these last few nights, haven't you? Wanking off under the covers in your little beddie-bye. Bet it gets you hot taking something so dangerous so close to your privates."

 

"Ugh, thinly veiled metaphor much?" she grunted, but damn him, he was right. The main reason she liked to shave was for that little frisson of naughtiness it brought. If only she'd realized that logic could be multiplied up she'd have... nope, not going there. Not thinking period. She kissed him hard, sucking on his tongue. "Less talking, more— nng!"

 

One blunt digit slipped down her desperate flesh to slide into her pussy. He was quickly taking on her body heat but for now still cooler than her, and holy wow that felt incredible. She could only imagine how good it would feel with other body parts involved, but that was one step further than she was prepared to go.

 

"Take off your pants," he begged her, and she shook her head, _no_ , and when he didn't like that answer he hooked his legs around hers and rolled them over, one hand still strumming between her thighs and the other behind her head, absurdly tender, so as not to knock it and set off his chip. Their eyes met as they came to rest, and the strange gentleness of his action seemed somehow to have crept into his gaze as he looked down at her with what could almost have been affection. It was intimate, how they were -- not just that he was finger-fucking her, but how long she held his eyes and how lost in them she was, and weirdly, despite it all, she felt safe enough in that moment to be vulnerable.

 

"Please, don't."

 

He gave her a hot, searching look. And he didn't.

 

Instead, he repositioned himself and rolled his hips into hers as he trailed his sticky fingers in a cool, compelling trail up her belly and under her blouse, until he found a nipple.

 

"No bra, pet?" he practically purred and she grimaced. It wasn't like she'd known this – any of this – was what her day would have in store. But then she remembered the fruits of her own wandering hands during the spell, and thrust beneath the waistband of his jeans to grip his bare ass.

 

"No boxers?" she retorted sweetly.

 

They kissed again, hard, but it was slower this time, bodies writhing together in the same molasses rhythm as their mouths. His erection rubbed her just right through their clothes, bulky and a bit rough; long, sweeping thrusts over all her sensitive parts.

 

"God, you smell good," he rumbled in her ear, and kissed his way down to her jaw, her neck. "Gonna vamp," he told her, "don't freak out."

 

"Hey, no, no bumpies in the bedroom!" He just leered at her, managing to convey somehow that she certainly wasn't complaining about his other bumpy regions. Also that they weren’t in a bedroom.

  
"All the better to smell you with," he grinned, and before she could say no again or push him off he'd done it, and she was staring up into yellow eyes and furrowed brow and gasping for breath because _yuck_ was that an unpretty sight but the traitorous region below her waist that had gotten her into this situation in the first place really _really_ disagreed.

 

Abandoning thought, she buried her hands in his short, fine hair and brought his face down to her neck. Moaning, he pressed his mouth against the vein, and shivers erupted on her skin, racing down her body: bellows to an already raging fire. Blinking blindly at the ceiling in astonished pleasure she wrapped her legs around his hips and let go.

 

Her orgasm, when it came, seemed to draw up from her curled toes and down from the roots of her hair. Her back arched and her mouth hung open in a rictus of pleasure, though the scream was silent (and thankfully so, given where they were). Her head swam with pleasure. Through the aftershocks, she felt Spike jerk away from her and when she opened her eyes he was human-looking again and rigid, practically vibrating with how still he was holding himself, and staring fixedly at her neck.

 

"Wha-?" she gasped. "Spike?"

 

"You're bleeding," he said, his voice so low it was barely more than a rumble in his chest. "Must've nicked you when you came." Slowly, he dragged his eyes to her face, and she felt his intensity as keenly as a finger to her clit. "Must not've hurt you."

 

"I guess— I guess not," she breathed, body poised on tenterhooks.

 

The silence was fraught and unblinking, and then Spike lunged. Buffy caught him at the shoulders, his craning neck just short of its target, and he made a feral noise, eyes flashing.

 

They struggled against each other a moment, then somehow her hands were pinned by her head and he was swiping his tongue over her, one long lick along her vein before he clamped on to her neck open-mouthed and sucked like he meant business. The sounds he made were obscene, and deeply erotic, and he thrust against her brutally now. She didn't know if he was in gameface or not but at that moment it didn't seem important – her body, already coiled, snapped under the tension and she came again in freefall. This time, Spike came with her.

 

Afterwards, he lay atop her trembling, and she soothed him with caresses until it felt weird again. When he pushed up, finally, he had an expression for a moment like he could worship her until the end of time. Then he blinked, shook himself and rolled away.

 

They stayed like that a little while, sprawled side by side like two marionettes with their strings cut. Buffy was stunned, and exhausted, and still tingly but mostly stunned. Sweat was cooling all over her body and she'd gotten so wet down below she felt sure her pants were stained. The thought of getting up and dealing with it all while still all squishy in the lady-parts was one thought too many right now.

 

"We will never speak of this again," she said hoarsely.

 

"Right," Spike said. "Got no argument from me."

 

"I mean, _ever_."

 

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Like I want this little bit of depravity getting out. Vamp's got a reputation, you know."

 

"Okay. So long as that's all nice and crystal clear..." She took a deep, steadying breath, and then pleaded, "You need to help me find a way to get cleaned up before Giles sees me like this."

 

She rolled her head his way to find him already looking at her, smirking but not in a particularly malicious way. "Slayer, are you suggesting a truce?"

 

She couldn't help the soft laugh, snorted through her nose. "Yeah, you're right. What a dumb idea."

 

And then he was standing over her, hand outstretched. "Come on, then," he said. "Only so long the old boy can spend fussing over his specs." His gaze fell to her neck as he pulled her to her feet, and his sparkling eyes were the only reason she held onto his hand so long.

 

"What?" she asked, suspicious.

 

He held his hands up placatingly, stepping back. "Just," he said, "when you look in the mirror, just remember what you said about not staking a poor, defenceless vamp."

 

Her hand flew to her neck in horrified understanding.

 

" _Spike!_ God _damn_ it! I really am gonna dust you this time."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the sequel: [Third Base](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6998734)


End file.
